Tag Archives: ashamed

I’m a Picker and a Puller

As I wrote out my title, I was singing that Steve Miller song, The Joker, in my head.  However, this post is not about music.  It’s about some issues that became clear this week.

I see both a psychiatrist and a psychologist.  They work out of the same office, but unfortunately, due to health insurance restrictions, I can’t see both on the same day.  On Monday this week, I saw my psychiatrist.  On Tuesday, I saw the psychologist.

Patients at this office fill in a sheet prior to each visit.  The sheet has a list of symptoms, (depression, anxiety, hopelessness, etc.), and a ratings scale.  At the top of the sheet, is a code representing the patient and some numeric codes, corresponding to the patient’s diagnoses.  So, imagine my surprise, when I picked up my sheet on Tuesday, and there was a new diagnosis.  My psychiatrist had added obsessive compulsive disorder to my list.  It was a surprise to me because although I have been showing some O.C.D. symptoms recently, I didn’t think these symptoms (which I shall soon discuss) would qualify me for a diagnosis of O.C.D.

Have you ever heard of Tweezerman tweezers?  They’re super sharp and are hand-filed. When you purchase a pair, the company promises that you can send the tweezers back to them and the company will sharpen the tweezers for free.  They are pricey ($22), but in my opinion, totally worth it.  They are fantastic and I won’t buy any other tweezers.  TweezermanBut this post isn’t about tweezers, or beauty tools, or beauty of any kind.  This post is about what led to my newest diagnosis.  About two weeks ago, I began plucking again.  When I was in middle school or high school (I can’t quite remember when), I would use dull tweezers to yank out the hairs on the inside of my lower legs.  More recently, my mother told me that when I was in pre-school, the teacher told my mother that I would sit and scratch myself until I bled.

Approximately three weeks ago, I pulled out my tweezers and started yanking out ingrown hairs on the inside of my lower legs once again.  This time, it’s a combination of dermatillomania (compulsive skin-picking) and trichotillomania (compulsive hair-pulling).  You may find the next part gross, so I’ve hidden it, but you can read the text if you select it.   I can’t explain it, but I get such satisfaction out of digging into my skin with the sharp point of my tweezers, finding the dark line of a new hair, and yanking it out.  It is especially satisfying for me, when the hair I pull out has a wet bulb attached.  And of course, once a scab has covered the wound, I just have to pick it off.

It’s crazy, I don’t know why I do it. I can become so fixated on getting those hairs out. I’ll be sitting, maybe in front of the computer or the TV, and I’ll just grab my tweezers. And once I start, I keep telling myself that I need to stop because I’ve made such a mess of my legs, but then, I’ll see another hair, and I just have to dig and pluck. I’ve found that I lose track of time doing this. The other day, I did it for 45 minutes when I could have been doing something productive.

I’ve linked to the picture of my legs, because I realize that some readers will be disgusted. And I agree and understand, my legs are disgusting.  But I promise, I’m not posting this to gross readers out, I’m posting this because I want to find people with similar experiences.

The Skank/Self-Esteem Connection and What Determines Attraction?

Before I get into my topic, I’d like to first make a statement.  Do you know how certain words can be nearly synonymous yet have very different meanings in context?  For example: slut, hoe, whore, and skank.  I choose to use the word, “skank”, as opposed to the more vulgar- sounding “slut”.  Have you ever noticed how much anger and hatred is behind “slut”?  From this point forward, I vow to never use the word “slut” in any posts.  If I do use it, call me out on it, please.

Now on to the topics at hand.  In my previous post, I wrote briefly about my mistake of gauging a man’s date-worthiness based upon his appearance.  And what a mistake it was! To bring you up to speed, I recently received a message to my online dating profile from a good-looking, hot-bodied man.  I had my doubts in this man but I chose to ignore them because he was attractive.  Against my better judgement, I gave him my number so we could text. Mind you, this was after we’d exchanged around five one-sentence messages between us.  Hence, my first error.

His second text to me, after the obligatory “hellos”, was “Are you thick with big boobs?”  This was my second indication that he wasn’t such a nice guy.  However, I continued texting him, (mistake #2) although I did write that he didn’t seem to want what I want (a relationship), to which he responded something along the lines of, “you don’t know me, how do you know what I want?” His angry comment made me feel like a jerk, so I apologized for doubting his intentions. Thus, my third error.

After texting for about two hours, (which was mostly him asking about my boobs and my “booty”), he suggested conversing via webcam.  I agreed to this, making it mistake number four.  I put on a little makeup, signed in, and we connected.  He asked me to show him my cleavage and I complied, error #5.  But when he asked me to take my top off, I finally made the right decision and told him that I didn’t feel right doing this and our conversation was kaput.

Now that little story up there does have a point and is relevant to my title.  After the interaction with this man (I’ll call him James), the first thing that came to mind was “How do I always meet men that don’t want a relationship?”  This question led to my next question, (as well as part of the title) “What determines attraction?”

Maybe it has happened to you, you tend to meet people who share similar personality traits, goals, flaws, etc. like they are all cut from the same cloth.  This is my case, I often meet men who aren’t interested in anything more than hooking up.  But why does this happen?  What about me attracts a man who isn’t into a relationship?  And of course, what is it that attracts me to men who aren’t into relationships?  I don’t have the answers and I’m not quite sure where to find them.

This leads me to the other portion of the title.  As mentioned in the last paragraph, I tend to be attracted somehow, to men who aren’t into anything serious, despite the fact that I desire a serious, loving, long-term relationship.  I am ashamed to say that in my dating past, I would give into my partner’s needs, while ignoring my own.  I would jump into bed too fast hoping for a relationship to happen. I’ll admit it, I could be skanky.

Over ten years ago, I lost my virginity on a first date.  I told myself that I just wanted to not be a virgin anymore.  Never in my life had I imagined this monumental event to happen like this. I pictured romance and “I love yous” being declared.  I don’t regret it, I’m just ashamed to admit that I behaved in this way.  This was the beginning of my skanky lifestyle (or so I thought).

I didn’t hook up with a new guy every night.  My number isn’t high, it’s less than ten.  But I did tend to rush into things with several men.  Whether it was a one-night-stand, making out with a stranger at the bar, or letting some guy I just met touch my boobs.  I did all sorts of things to get guys to like me.

This is where self-esteem enters the picture.  I’m not sure what other women would think, but I believe my self-esteem is connected to my intimate behavior.  I need to feel wanted and I need to please a man to get that adoration from him.  It’s reassuring to know that a man is interested in me and oftentimes, its his attraction that makes me feel worth it.

Though, truthfully, the majority of these men weren’t interested in me.  They preyed on my vulnerability and most-likely, could sense my need for validation.  I hate the fact that a man’s opinion of me can still hold such high-standing in my life.  I hate the fact that I can’t respect myself enough to not go too far with a new man.  But I must say, that I am proud of myself for not showing my breasts online to James the Jerk.  And I suppose it’s a start, it’s showing that I’m headed in the right direction.

For the future, if I ever do get a date again, I want him to earn my sexuality.  I want him to get to know me first, to really appreciate and care about me and my feelings.  I want to respect myself and I want my partner to respect me as well.  Most of all, I really want to experience sex and love together.  I’ve never had that pleasure and I am so intrigued about the connection that must be felt when making love to a man who cares as opposed to a man who just doesn’t want to leave the bar alone.  With any luck, I’ll be able to experience my dream.

A Confession…

I have a confession to make.  I’ve started smoking again.  One day, while I was smoking my e-cigarette, I realized, I just want to taste my cigarette.  It’s not the smoking I need to give up, it’s the nicotine.  With the electronic cigarette, I was getting my daily dose of nicotine (and then some), but I wasn’t enjoying that Marlboro 27 taste I love so much.  Those who’ve never smoked can’t understand how a cigarette can taste enjoyable.  That’s the best way I can explain the taste, “enjoyable”.

I do intend to quit nicotine, though I’m not sure when.  I know that it is possible, as I was able to quit for 6 weeks two years ago.  I may make it a resolution later this year, but most-likely I’ll do it on my own and share the news once I’ve kicked the habit for good.

And now,  something that’s been bothering me tonight.  I was at work and one of my co-workers said to me “I think you’re depressed”.  Well, that’s pretty obvious.  I’m sure I must come off that way to everyone because I am, in fact, depressed.  Then she said “what are you going to do?”  This particular co-worker is often looking out for me.  She knows I’m unhappy with my life and she would like to see me break out of my funk.  Then she said something that really struck a chord with me.

“I feel like I’m stuck in neutral and everyone else is moving past me.” I said.

“Well, no offense, but that’s true.  You aren’t doing anything about it.”  She said.

She wants me to go back to school.  I would like to go back to school, but that would mean continuing to live with my parents.  I’ve hoped to get a new job that pays better so I can move out.   I’m 31.  I hate my life.  I hate living at home.  I’m so embarrassed and afraid to meet new people.  I can’t tell a potential friend or boyfriend that I live at home with my parents, but then again, I can’t move out because I don’t have a job that pays enough for me to live on my own.  If i go back to school and get a Master’s Degree, I could eventually have a job that pays better and doesn’t make me feel ashamed.  I hate being so indecisive.

I’m such a loser. What do I do?